


Let Me Say It

by siobhrag



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Feelings, Getting Together, M/M, Present Tense, Romance, Severus Snape Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24720982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siobhrag/pseuds/siobhrag
Summary: Harry wants to say something. Severus wants to hear what Harry has to say, but is afraid of what he might hear. Can Harry ease Severus’ worries?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 8
Kudos: 117





	Let Me Say It

**Author's Note:**

> Not betaed.

How do you tell someone you love them?

How do you tell someone you love them when they don’t want you in their life?

How do you tell someone you love them when they _pretend_ they don’t want you and your love in their life?

How does he tell Snape he loves him?, Harry though for the hundredth time.

How does he tell Snape he loves him after years of mutual hatred, years of grudging collaboration, then years of secret admiration, and finally years of complete adoration?

Harry has spent half the day lurking around Snape’s shop, ducking around the corner of a nearby building or hiding behind the now well-worn and crinkled newspaper every time it seemed that Snape might see him. 

And now it’s getting dark, and the last customer left the shop twenty minutes ago, and Snape is about to close the shop and turn the sign on the door around, and Harry still hasn’t mastered enough courage to actually enter the shop, this being the action he has successfully performed on numerous occasions before this fateful day.

And Harry is absolutely sure; he just knows that if he doesn’t do it now, he will never ever do it at all. It is the proverbial now or never situation. But oh-Merlin how he wants to do that, how he needs to do that. Actually, needs them to do that, for he just knows that Severus feels the same way.

With a final shuddered breath Harry places his hand on the door handle, closes his eyes and practically barges into the shop, stumbling on the threshold and bumping his head lightly on a low-hanging glass bell above the door.

The bell tinkles softly announcing Harry’s arrival. His eyes still closed, Harry is standing just two steps from the door, breathing shallowly and rapidly. The shop is silent. He can’t hear a thing – no steps, no shuffling of boxes and packages, no knife hitting the cutting board, no bubbling cauldrons or quill scratching the paper. Nothing.

Nothing but Snape breathing quietly somewhere near; too quietly, and too carefully, like a predator in waiting. Snape’s clearly noticed Harry’s spectacular entrance into his shop. Harry can feel Snape’s presence, his power and his magic, throbbing warmly somewhere in front of him. 

Harry takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. Snape is standing closer than Harry expects. Harry is met by Snape’s piercing gaze boring right into him, understanding everything and denying everything even before Harry has the chance to speak. Of course he understands. There is no way he won’t understand why Harry’s here, and what he wants to say, and why. Not after the last six months of agonising, awkward encounters when they both tried to hide what so obviously has been in the open.

They keep looking at each other in silence, neither one of them wanting to be the first to break it for fear of the words that will fill it.

Then Harry, the true Gryffindor that he is, says the first words. They don’t come out the way he wants, but it’s a start nevertheless.

“Professor, I…” His voice fails him, getting croaky and rendering him speechless, and Harry closes him mouth shut with a weird gurgle. He feels stupid and dumb, all his years and experience disappearing like they’ve never happened to him at all, like he’s eighteen again, instead of twenty eight, and is afraid of his stern and imposing professor. 

Harry’s never been afraid of Snape before. But right now he is utterly terrified of what Snape might say to him after hearing Harry’s confession. But it will only matter if Harry actually manages to produce any more words. 

He clears his throat and tries again. “Professor, I…” He’s stopped again; this time not by his own unyielding body, but by Snape’s hand raised in front of him. “Mr. Potter… Harry, stop. Please.” Snape’s eyes are still boring into Harry’s face, but his voice is filled with some feeling that Harry can’t quite decipher now. Snape’s own face is tense and somewhat pained as if he doesn’t like what’s about to happen. 

It’s so rare of him to call Harry by his first name that Harry smiles against himself, his smile a small and feeble thing on his tense face, shy and so-so happy. Snape recoils from Harry and his smile as if he’s been struck. Harry sees that and feels it, but against all odds this reaction of Snape actually gives Harry the proof that he’s not mistaken, that what he wants to say stands true for Snape as well. 

Harry takes one step forward. Snape takes one step back.

Harry sees it now so clearly that he’s astonished as to how he could have missed it before. Snape, Severus, is afraid, afraid of him, Harry, and of himself, and of that strange, unfamiliar feeling they both seem to harbour, but are unwilling to acknowledge, not to themselves, not to each other. 

But not anymore. Harry will make sure of that. He will. He takes another step forward. Snape steps back. Harry’s lips quirk into a small smile. This is ridiculous. They are both grown up and they both want the same thing. Why is it so bloody difficult to say it?

“Severus.”

The man visibly flinches when Harry says his name. Harry continues nonetheless, knowing that it isn’t from disgust or distaste. Harry deliberately uses the man’s name, setting once and for all, after a very long time, for one possible and appropriate way to address the man he’s about to confess his love to.

“Severus, I need to tell you something.” Harry desperately hopes that his voice is firm and confident and conveys the urgency Harry feels in his heart.

“Potter… Harry, I know. I know what you want to say.” Severus can’t quite decide which of Harry’s names to use. “You don’t need to say it. Actually, you shouldn’t say it at all, or be here at all, for that matter.” Severus fidgets with his arms, not knowing where to put them – to cross them on his chest or to shove them into his pockets.

Harry has never seen this usually composed and cold-headed man in such a disarray of feelings before. That it’s all because of him, Harry, warms his heart immensely, thought it also makes him feel a bit nasty, to hold such a power over another human being. He torments Severus with his mere presence, but the torment is bittersweet. Harry thinks suddenly that he would rather have Severus putting his arms around Harry’s waist. That is where they truly belong.

Harry takes a step forward. Severus takes a step back. This is the last step he can take. The shop is rather small and Severus’ back is now pressed against the high counter littered with potion-making paraphernalia. No more escape.

“No. I need to say this, and you need to listen to it. And we need to stop pretending it doesn’t exist.” 

“No, we don’t. There is nothing to pretend about as it doesn’t really exist.” It’s not quite clear who Severus really tries to persuade, himself or Harry.

Harry takes a step forward. Severus puts his hands on the counter behind him, as if bracing himself for an impending attack.

“Does it?” Harry smiles softly and tilts his head to the side. “I think there’s something quite special going on between us, and I think it can be even more special. If you let it.” Harry adds softly. 

Severus looks at Harry with gleaming eyes, his fingers trembling on the counter-top. Harry’s chest is suddenly flooded by a heat-wave of tenderness. He covers the remaining distance between them in two long strides. He’s now right in front of Severus, his chest almost touching the front of Severus’ shirt underneath his open robe. 

Harry touches Severus’ cheek with the tips of his fingers and the man closes his eyes with a shuddered exhale. “Severus, what are you so afraid of?”

Severus’ eyes snap open and Harry’s ready for a scathing retort about cowards and fools, but what he gets in response to his question breaks his heart and makes him fall for Severus even more.

“You.” Severus breathes the word out, his voice is barely audible. “You, leaving. Eventually. Getting bored and wanting to leave, and staying out of some misguided sense of obligation.”

Flabbergasted, Harry cups Severus’ face in his hands and presses his forehead to Severus’. “Severus. No.” He whispers into the man’s lips which he’s still yet to kiss. “Never.”

Severus smiles sadly. “You don’t know it. You can’t know it now. You’re blinded by what you’re feeling, whatever this is, and you cannot know if it will work out.” His words are so desperate and heart-wrenching that Harry immediately wants to find a way to show Severus their future, a year from now on, five, ten and more, where they are together, happy, still with this thing they try so desperately to express and quench right now. 

But all Harry can do is use words. He shifts back a bit to see Severus’ eyes. “I know. Believe me, please. I know.”

“How?”

Harry smiles and shrugs. “I just know.”

Severus closes his eyes and shakes his head in between Harry’s hands. “You’re still young, and passionate, and impulsive, and beautiful.” His voice is wistful. “And I’m too old for this. I’m too old to have my heart broken.” Severus whispers so softly that Harry’s barely able to hear him. He’s never expected to hear something like this, something so sentimental from such a reserved and composed man as Severus.

Harry caresses Severus’ cheekbones with his thumbs. “You’re not old.” He tilts his face up and does something he’s been dreaming of doing for quite some time now. He gently kissed the very corner of Severus’ mouth. Their very first kiss; not quite the proper one, but it’s a start. 

Severus gasps and his lips part a bit. Harry continues, his lips never entirely leaving the spot he’s just kissed. “I will never break your heart. I will cherish and treasure it with my whole being, if you let me.”

Harry drops his head on Severus’ shoulder, his face now almost pressed into the high and stiff collar of Severus’ shirt. His hands slide to Severus’ shoulders. “I would rather break my own heart.” Harry breathes in deeply the scent of Severus – his hair smells of vervain and the collars of his shirt and robe give away a smell of freshly burnt pine-wood. Harry recognises it as the smell of the potion Severus has to use on his scar.

Severus’ hands touch Harry’s waist.

Harry almost starts. The touch is so unexpected he can hardly believe it’s there. It’s light and tentative, Severus’ hands barely touching Harry’s sides. Even through all his layers of clothes Harry can feel the warmth of Severus’ palms. Harry slowly slides his hands down to Severus’ waist and gingerly wraps his arms around it, as if afraid that Severus might bolt away at any moment.

Severus’ hold on Harry’s waist gets firmer, his arms mirroring Harry’s. They now stand holding each other in the middle of an empty shop, and Harry thinks he’s the happiest person in the world. Severus turns his head a bit and burrows his nose into Harry’s hair, just above his ear.

Harry can feel Severus exhale deeply, he can practically feel all the tension and worry seep out of Severus and dissolve in the air. Harry doesn’t understand what, which of his words, has made Severus change his mind and yield, but he doesn’t dare to ask for fear of scaring this precious moment away.

Severus nuzzles at Harry’s hair and kisses the tip of Harry’s ear. Harry giggles and rubs his forehead on Severus’ shoulder. “Impossible brat.” The way Severus says these words makes Harry think he has been meaning to say something entirely different. Harry smiles and finally whispers the three words he has intended to say from the very beginning of this weird evening. 

This time Severus doesn’t interrupt him. He just holds Harry tighter and presses his lips to Harry’s temple. They hold each other in the silence of the shop, which is interrupted only by their quiet breathing. They will have everything later – proper kisses (and improper once); lovemaking; life together. But for now they are content with this small and innocent bit of affection.

And now Harry knows the exact answer to his earlier dilemma - how do you tell someone you love them? You tell it with your heart, with your kisses, with you every action, movement and breath; with every molecule of your being.

And you get the same in return.


End file.
